


Flowers for "B. Gold"

by Of_Princes_and_Savages



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Hospitalization, Humor, Multi, Nice stuff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages
Summary: Bae Gold was lucky he didn't have to do the oral history report. Unlucky in that it was because he had appendicitis. While he's in the hospital, Emma decided to send her friend some nice flowers. Shame he didn't get them...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "You sent me flowers in the hospital AU"
> 
> I said I had a plot for this, but this wasn't it. I've got another one for the same prompt lined up, but this begged to be written because I adore writing Swanfire/Rumbelle together. Swanfirumbelle, if you will.

Emma had to hand it to Bae; Getting appendicitis the same day as the oral history report he'd been loathing all week? He was a lucky bastard.

His father had been in Virginia for three days or so, brokering a deal for some antique...rocking chairs or something, hell if Emma knew. She thought there was some cool stuff for sale in Gold's Pawnshop and Antiques, but good god, a chair was a chair even if it was a Rodhesian Switchback or whatever you called it. Undoubtedly as soon as Gold got the news he'd break every rule of the road to get back to Storybrooke, but for now, Neal was recuperating in the hospital on his own.

Emma had tried to stop by after school, but was told Bae was still asleep after the surgery. So, on her way home from that failed attempt, Emma paused outside the Game of Thorns flowershop.

As far as Emma knew, women over forty didn't have babies. Yet, her forty-one-year-old mother had given birth to a healthy seven pound baby boy six months ago. It was really, really weird to have gone to the flowershop with her father to pick out flowers-a dozen white lilies, same as when Emma had been born, despite the face Mr. French made,-and take them to the maternity ward. But the kid, Neal Leopold Nolan, was cute, and her parents were cute about it too...

Even if she had to look away from their excessive PDA. Multiple times...

Flowers seemed like a sweet thing to do for Bae. Emma didn't give a particular damn about gender roles and stereotyping. She and Bae were, in his own words, platonically married at this point. (She'd hoped the moron might ask her out properly, but obviously she was going to have to do the asking once he got out the hospital.) And there was nothing weird about sending flowers to a hospitalized friend/potential-boyfriend.

She walked in, breathing in the humid, green-smelling air. Mr. French looked a little surprised to see a lone 17-year-old girl in the shop, but listened to her (why did she have to talk so much when she was nervous?!) ramble about how she wanted to send some flowers to her friend in the hospital, what kind of options were there?

Mr. French suggested a modestly priced bouquet he had in the case, some pink roses and baby's breath sprigs, arranged in a vase. He could put it all together and deliver it that afternoon for fifteen bucks. Fair enough, considering he'd deliver them tomorrow morning, Emma supposed, she she paid for just that.

When Mr. French said that most of the delivered flowers came with a card, (at no charge,) to identify the sender, Emma jotted down a quick message on the piece of cardstock with a feathery-topped pen:

**_Get well soon, Gold. X_ **

She didn't bother to sign it because Bae had always teased that he could always pick out her handwriting. Her capital letters were twice the size of the lowercase ones, and E's almost looked like they'd rolled over on their sides. The X would be enough.

* * *

Gold got a call from Belle when he was headed into lunch down in Virginia that sent him back on the road immediately.

Bae had a case of appendicitis that necessitated it being removed. Gold had never been so glad that he'd appointed Belle as Bae's guardian in case something happened to him. His teenaged son had thought it was too much at the time, since, _"I'm practically an adult, Pops, I don't need a babysitter,"_  but this had also given Belle the power to handle any medical emergencies when Gold was out of town.

His son had an allergy to shellfish and they lived in Maine, for gods sake, anything could happen.

Still, even with his level-headed, beautifully competent girlfriend in charge of the situation, Gold had been Bae's sole parent for too long to just stay in Virginia. His business was done, the money was wired into his account, he had sold two Edwardian-era armchairs to an elderly couple retired from Boston that had done business with him before and insisted he come to them, (god help him from being that sort of dotty old git at seventy,) and there was no need for him to be here any longer.

He didn't break any speed limits, exactly, but he had marveled at one point that no policemen jumped out and accosted him. Gold made it back over the Maine state line in record time, and cruised into Storybrooke just after dark.

That had been his first mistake...

* * *

Moe French usually had a load of flowers to take to the hospital once a week, little arrangements to brighten up the gloomier rooms. It was a tradition his late wife had started when she thought she'd beat her cancer the first time, and Moe found himself carrying on the tradition after Colette passed on.

Today, Emma Nolan had added in an arrangement for Bailey Gold, but it was no great trouble to add one personalized arrangement in with the standard ones he put together fromt he odds and ends left around the shop each week. He affixed a note to the card on the back so the nurses wouldn't mix it up: _"For B. Gold."_

Gold's boy was a good egg. He was well-mannered to everyone, showed every sign of having a promising future. How Gold had ever raised a boy like that was beyond comprehension, but, there was a very real possibility that Bailey Gold would be Moe's step-grandson someday, (as boggling as that was,) as Belle had stubbornly stayed by Gold for the past four years at least.

Well...at least she'd always be taken care of. And she did seem happy enough. That was what was important.

Moe loaded all the flowers into the Game of Thorns van and drove across town to Storybrooke General. It was arguably the newest building in Storybrooke, some old timers still calling it the "new hospital" because it had replaced the rather inadequate building where they'd subsequently built a cluster of apartments in the early eighties. Nice place, clean and efficent, not too crowded but not the sprawling monster that Colette had been shut up in so often during her first bout with cancer before they moved.

Moe got out the van and unloaded the flowers at the nurses' station in the less-busy west wing. The head nurse, Nurse Potts, was a sturdy, matronly woman that thought the flowers were a wonderful idea and, according to rumor, personally told Whale to piss off when he considered doing away with them out of concern for allergies or something.

"We know who's allergic to what," she'd sniffed. "We are nurses, aren't we?"

She had commandeered a cart specifically for the purpose of flower deliveries. (It was an old cart they used to deliver dinners on, with a busted wheel that wiggled and **CLACK** 'd down the hall.) Moe put the little plastic vases filled with hodge-podge arrangements onto the cart, and pointed out the pink rose bouquet.

"These were ordered for a patient, the name's on the card."

"Ah, I'll be sure to tell my girls that," Mrs. Potts nodded. "Thank you Mr. French, have a nice week."

"Thank you, you too."

Moe returned to his van with a box of old, empty vases to be returned with fresh flowers next week. He decided, then, to stop by Granny's for a bite to eat before he returned to the shop. Within the hour or so, Nurse Potts would assign a candy-striper or otherwise underling to distrubute the bouquets accordingly, so his part in the deed was done.

* * *

After school was usually a time when Belle kept the library open for young students to come in. Granted "everything was on the Internet", sure, but the library was equipped with not-so-ancient computers and a quiet, cozy environment that promoted studying. Or at least the feeling that you were studying smarter.

However, today, she decided that personal matters outweighed business ones, and she closed up early to head over to the hospital. Emma Nolan gave her a lift in the battered yellow bug she and Bae had spent most of their sophmore and junior year restoring to a functional state. Bae had chipped in the money for repairs and occasional gas money, just as long as Emma would "chaufer" him when he needed to bum a ride.

Bae was stunned that his father thought they were dating, because, _"Emma and I are just friends, Pops!"_

(Belle had a bet running with Emma on how long it would take Bae to ask her out: Currently Belle stood to win that lemon poundcake recipe from Mary-Margaret's vault. Gold men were cute, sweet, and courteous, but also _clueless_ , so it would be up to Emma to make the first move.)

The ride to the hospital was a quiet one. Belle was cordial with Emma, but they didn't have a lot in common. What with Belle being thirty-three and Emma being seventeen, a librarian and a student, bookish and tomboyish.

"Oh," Belle finally realized. "Did you know Bae's father's in the hospital?"

Emma tapped on the brakes a little hard at the stop sign. "What?"

"I got a call last night at about nine. He slipped on the sidewalk and put too much weight on his ankle."

"Oh my god, is he okay?"

"Yeah, well, he's got a mightily wounded pride of course, but physically? Fine."

Emma muttered something about "Golds" and "drama" that might not be incorrect as she sought out a parking spot. Once settled, they headed into the hospital and checked for their respective man's room numbers. The girl behind the desk seemed confused, likely because it wasn't her shift when two Golds were admitted, but gave them out anyway. Bae was down the hall and around the corner from his father, they probably didn't even know they were in the same wing unless someone had told them.

Emma lingered outside the room when Belle went into Room 112, smiling back at her ridiculous boyfriend where he was lying in the bed with the blanket pulled half up his chest. (He'd once told her he despised hospital gowns, "and the way they leave your arse open to the world, who designed that?" so likely he was feeling exposed even in bed.)

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," she clucked, kissing his forehead. He'd gotten a haircut necessitated by a clumsy barber that lopped off a large section of his collar-length brown hair, and while Belle missed the long soft strands, his shorter hair opened up his face a lot.

No doubt Emma wouldn't appreciate a demonstration on how Belle rather liked seeing her boyfriend's cute ears and playing with the soft brownish floof appearing as he grew his hair a bit longer on the top, though.

That could wait until after he was discharged...

"I presume you sent the flowers," he nodded towards the pink roses sitting on the table nearby. "They're very pretty, can't imagine your father liked delivering them though."

Belle let the ever-recurring tension between her traditional father and older boyfriend comment slide, gazing at the bouquet of pink roses and baby's breath sitting on the table. She knew her father had long sent a bunch or random little floral arrangements to the hospital, once a week, to brighten up the rooms. But this was too big, and the vase was too nice.

And she certainly hadn't ordered flowers, partly because she didn't want her father to fuss, again, over the fact that her boyfriend had a mangled ankle, which apparently made him an unsuitable life partner-

"Uhhh...those are mine." Emma blurted out, sounding horrified.

With his cool Mr. Gold face in place, he gave Emma a glance. Reaching over for the vase, he nudged it around until he saw the little off-white card, plucking it off the crystalline holder.

"'Get well soon, Gold.' Signed with a kiss," he mused, and Belle was torn between giggling and feeling sorry for poor, bright-red Emma. "Hmm. Well, I'm flattered, dearie, but I think you've got the wrong man."

"I do. I mean, they did. I mean-" Emma backtracked out the room, looking at the name under the room number. "I ordered flowers for Bae, 'cause, y'know, that's what you do when somebody's in the hospital, right? I guess 'cause you're B. Gold on the door, then they got it mixed up." A pause. "What does the 'B' stand for, anyway?"

"Bhàtair."

Emma gave him a look like he'd started speaking backwards Latin.

"It's the Scottish version of Walter."

"That's...not better. You don't look like a Walter. Walter the Dozy-Nightguard looks like a Walter."

"True enough. But I believe you're here to visit my son, not ponder my true name. So, would you like to personally deliver these flowers, Miss Nolan?"

Belle finally giggled when Emma sheepishly scooped up the flowers and darted out the room. She leaned over and kissed her boyfriend on his smirking mouth.

"You are mean."

"I love you too."

* * *

Bae figured they'd adjusted his medication. When he first came out of his anesthetic haze, he'd been absolutely loopy. Now he felt much more lucid, if bored out of his skull. The only thing on TV was reruns of TV shows that were new when his father was in grade school, reruns of NCIS, or local news.

He'd settled on a Western, resigned to letting his mind rot in his skull from boredom.

Cause of death: _Brain cells atrophying from watching a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy save a shrieking Caucasian woman with a tiny waist from a dirtier, heavy-set cowboy with the makings of a 70s porno mustache._

Actually, if this was made in the sixties, it might make sense to increase the drugs dripping in his IV...but then, a glance towards the door showed a hallucination of Emma standing there with pink roses in a vase, so maybe the drugs were kicking back in?

"What are you watching?" HallucinEmma asked.

"I dunno, I missed the opening credits. I see a lack of dead bodies so I'm guessing it's not, uh, who's the great big bastard?"

"John Wayne?"

"No, no, on TV, uh...Gunsmoke, I think? I dunno, Dad could tell you."

"Your dad watches Westerns?" Emma's eyebrows crinkled together, and Bae slowly realized it _wasn't_ a hallucination.

"Nah. Not really, he doesn't like the trigger-happy gunfire sound. He had an aunt that loved 'em though, he can name them all through her."

Emma shook her head, stepping into the room. "I am learning way more about your dad today than I wanted to know, ever."

"What? Were he and Belle doing something funky in his room?"

"Eww! Why would you say that? No! I just...here," she thrust the flower vase at him, all but dropping it on the nightstand. "These are for you."

Bae blinked, staring at the roses. "Really?"

"Yeah. So...whatever," Emma shoved her hands in her pockets. "You're in the hospital, I brought you flowers. No big deal."

"Thanks Em," he smiled, admiring how the roses matched the colors of her ears the more flustered she got. "I like them."

"Really?"

"Really. Have a seat," Bae gestured towards the empty space on the side of his bed. "So how was school?"

"Abuzz with speculation on whether you'll live or not."

"Really?"

"Not really, sorry. It was boring as hell without you."

That made Bae really happy to hear, for some reason. He shifted, feeling an ache in his lower abdomen that protested that movement. If it weren't for the TV in the background, it would've been completely silent in the room. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but Bae felt like ants were crawling on his skin. Very...well, antsy.

"So-"

"So-"

"Er," Bae faltered. "You first."

Emma nodded, sitting on the bed at last. She took a deep breath and slapped her hands on her knees, twisting towards him.

"You want to go to the movies?"

"Uh...like...like now, or, after I get out? I mean-"

"After. Like a date. You wanna go? With me? To the, uh, to the movies together on a date. With me. Yes?"

Emma's courage was waning, but Bae was just mightily impressed she had jumped the chasm that he'd been edging away from since he was twelve years old and Emma tackled him into Lily Finch's pool because she didn't want to jump in alone.

"Yes."

"I mean you don't have to say yes, because I'm really glad we're friends and-" Emma paused. "Was that a yes?"

"Yes," Bae nodded. "I'd like to go to the movies with you as soon as I'm medically cleared. Or sooner. Whichever."

Emma snorted in that way she did when she was nervous and amused. "It can wait until you're cleared. I've been trying to ask you out since freshman year."

"Hmm...wasn't that the year you dated the monkey boy?"

"Walsh Osmond was not a monkey! He was cute...except for the fact that he had no long-term personality."

"I'll take you're word for the cute, but I agree about his personality."

Emma rolled her eyes, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his cheek. She'd done that a hundred times since they were little, but this felt different. Bae tried turning his head to catch her in a real kiss, but Emma backed up quickly.

"No offense? But I'm pretty sure you haven't brushed your teeth in twenty-four hours," she grinned. "That can wait too."

"Not long, right?" Bae asked, silently pleading with the universe to speed of his hospitalization.

"Hopefully," Emma agreed. "But you have those pretty flowers to remind you to heal faster, right?"

Bae reached over and plucked one out. He was lucky in that it didn't have big, sharp thorns. Twirling the stem between his fingers, he grinned and lightly booped the top of Emma's nose with the soft pink bloom.

"Best flowers ever."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BarPurple asked: _Flowers for "B. Gold" - so did Bae and Emma ever go on that movie date?_

It wasn’t that Mary-Margaret didn’t trust Bae Gold with her daughter. No, it wasn’t really that at all. Bae had been Emma’s closest male friend since kindergarten, they split custody of that battered yellow Volkswagen, they did school projects together, and if they wanted to give dating a try, well Emma could certainly do worse with a boy than someone she knew and trusted.

It was just the general fear parents got at the idea of their child going out of town on a date that made her feel so antsy about the idea of them going to the movies.

Storybrooke didn’t have a theater. They’d had one up until the seventies when it shut down because it was too small, and had been converted into The Rabbit Hole. Anybody who wanted to see that new blockbuster had to drive forty-five minutes out of town to the next town over.

Emma and Bae had gone before…just with friends. It felt different with them going off together alone. David told her to not get so worked up about it, but, he’d been the one to stipulate they got Saturday afternoon and be home before dark. And to drive carefully. And check the car before leaving, and really make sure the tires were in good condition.

Mr. Gold had seconded that, and added that Emma should drive because he didn’t trust Bae not to speed up when they were alone on the road just to get there faster.

All in all, they were very reasonable requests, Mary-Margaret thought. She’d asked them to call when they got there and when they were leaving, which made Emma roll her eyes a little, but she agreed to.

So Saturday, just after lunch, Emma went to pick up Bae, and then they were off. About forty-five minutes later, Emma called to say they were heading into the theater now. And she called a little less than two hours later to say they were headed back.

So when the phone rang with Emma’s number a third time, not twenty minutes later, Mary-Margaret could only think: _“The phone is ringing, why is the phone ringing?”_

She envisioned the police calling saying her daughter and Bae were in prison. She imagined there had been a terrible accident, that they were in comas. She even entertained the idea that they’d been kidnapped and this was their captor calling for a ransom.

Instead, Emma said slowly, “Hi Mom…so…I’m okay-”

Oh thank god. “Where are you?”

“On the side of the road. No one’s hurt! It’s not even an accident, but, well, um…but you know how Dad said to check the car before we left?”

“Yes.”

“And how he said to check the tires especially?”

“Yes…”

“And how you were bugging me to invest in a spare tire in case I got a flat?”

“Oh Emma-”

“Could you maybe…send Dad out here, to say ‘I told you so’ and give us a lift back to town? Bae’s calling a tow truck, Billy already said he’d be on his way-”

“DAVID!”


End file.
